


Outlawed

by frantstic



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, Blood and Gore, Death, Enemies to Lovers, Game of Thrones-esque, Killing, Knights - Freeform, M/M, definitely not based on a specific game of thrones couple idk what you're talking about, tw for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 17:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frantstic/pseuds/frantstic
Summary: Desperate to prove himself as a knight, Sir Phil Lester captures a criminal he finds at the scene of a burning village, and tasks himself with taking this mysterious outlaw Dan to the capital.





	Outlawed

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps this is Game of Thrones inspired... perhaps this is inspired by a specific Game of Thrones couple… who can tell? Please enjoy this little fic in between Alternative updates, look out for some of those soon! Remember to follow me on tumblr @ dykephannie!

Phil’s horse knickered beneath him, throwing her mane at the smell of fire. He tightened his fist around the reins as Hyle rode up alongside him, brow furrowed. 

“What should we do, Sir?” Hyle asked.

Phil scanned the horizon. Plumes of black smoke stretched across an otherwise blue sky, and the air smelled dry and dead. A few straw roofs still burned, and a freed horse fled from its stable. Phil grimaced. He knew things like this happened all the time in his father’s land, but he had never seen it before. And he had never understood the consequences until now. 

“Search the buildings for any remaining smallfolk,” he commanded. “And then we’ll start a hunt for the criminals responsible for this.”

“Right way, Sir.”

Hyle rode away, taking the rest of the party with him. Phil fidgeted in his saddle, one hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. _If I don’t have anything to show for myself after this…_ Phil shook the thought away and spurred his horse forward. 

The village had been picked clean. Bodies littered the muddy streets, covered in blood and ash, their pockets outturned. The stench was mind numbing. 

Phil’s horse led him past empty houses and shops to a watch tower on the northern edge of town that hadn’t done the villagers much good. He was going to move on when something clattered inside. Phil stiffened. There weren’t any horses nearby, which meant the sound didn’t come from one of his men. _Perhaps one of the villagers survived_. 

He dismounted and tied up his horse, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his sword. He ducked through the doorway, his boots digging into the muddy floor. There was another sound from above Phil’s head, like something falling. Phil froze. A quick pair of footsteps nearly flew down the stairs, so fast Phil barely had time to unsheathe his sword before a young man in tattered, dirty clothes was on the ground in front of him.

Phil’s eyes fell on the bag over the man’s shoulder and the dirk in his fist. He seemed surprised to be caught, large eyes growing even wider staring down Phil’s blade. 

“Stop,” he sputtered, trying to remember what it was he was supposed to say. “In the name of the king.”

The other man frowned. “Are you a knight?”

Phil was taken aback. “Yes.”

The outlaw had the audacity to smile. “Really? You must be quite fresh. You’re not even holding your sword right.”

Phil looked down at his hand and adjusted his grip. “You… you startled me.” 

“Sorry about that.” The outlaw shrugged. “You were in my way.”

Phil gritted his teeth. “Well, regardless. You’re under arrest. I’m taking you to the capital.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood, brushing dirt off his trousers. His clothing was ratty: brown, threadbare trousers, a long sleeved tunic, and a leather jerkin. But the dirk in his hand was a bright steel with a gilded handle, clearly stolen. He tossed the dagger, letting it flip in the air before catching it again in his palm. “What for?”

“Thievery. Arson.” Phil tilted his blade and his chin higher. “You destroyed this village.”

“What, all on my own?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been busy.”

“My men are hunting down the rest of your accomplices.”

“What accomplices?”

Phil frowned, biting his tongue to keep from screaming in frustration. “Drop your weapon and get on your knees!” Phil demanded.

“As you say.” The outlaw smiled, and the dirk fell from his grip. He lowered to his knees. “Do I get to know your name, Sir?”

“Sir Philip Lester.” Phil removed the chains from his belt. 

“House Lester, huh?” The outlaw grunted as Phil tightened the chains around his wrists. “Haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s small,” Phil heard himself saying. He pulled the outlaw to his feet. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m taking you to the capital’s dungeons, where you’ll rot with the rest of them.”

“How appealing.”

Phil reached to the ground and picked up the dirk and the outlaw’s sack. It was full of candlesticks, copper, and silver. Phil left it there. Its weight wasn’t worth the trouble.  
He lifted the outlaw to his feet by the back of his jerkin.

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“It doesn’t matter. Lowborn trash is insignificant to me.”

“Well, it’s Dan. Nice to meet you too.”

Phil called his men back to him in the center of the village. “I’m taking him to the capital,” Phil declared. “Hyle, you take command and search for his companions. Tell my father where I’ve gone when you return.”

“I can take him back, Sir,” Hyle offered. “You could report to you father directly.”

“No,” Phil snapped. He saw Dan frown. “I’ll take him myself. I have the best arms, in case of trouble.”

“If you insist, Sir.” Hyle gave a stiff bow. “Safe travels, then.”

“And you as well.”

Hyle led the rest of the men from the village, horse hooves kicking up dust and mud. Dan and Phil were left alone. 

“Am I to walk all the way to the capital, then?” Dan motioned towards Phil’s horse. The saddle could only fit one. Phil contemplated tying him to the back of the saddle, but thought it would be dangerous to leave him out of sight for the entirety of the ride. Besides, the horse could carry Phil’s pack for him, which would make his own journey easier.

“Yes. And I’ll walk with you.”

Phil slung his satchel over his horse’s back, and tied a rope to the chain between the cuffs on Dan’s wrists. He wrapped his own end around his fist, tightly. 

Phil tugged on the rope, ensuring its security. Dan flew forward, chains rattling. Phil nodded sharply. “Come on. We need to start moving, if we’re to get to the capital quickly.”

“Quickly?” Dan scoffed. “The capital must be leagues away. If you want to move fast, we need horses. You should’ve told one of your men to give you one.”

Phil felt his ears redden. _I should’ve done that. Why didn’t I?_ His father’s voice replied to him. _Because you’re a rotten knight_. “I won’t have my judgement questioned,” Phil snapped, tugging the rope again. Dan stumbled a bit, but stayed on his feet. “Let’s go, lowborn scum.”

Dan laughed again, his voice clear and unbothered. “Scum? How dishonorable. No real knight would be so impolite.”

Phil ignored him and began to walk. He could hear Dan trudging behind him, taking uneven steps. Phil cast a glance over his shoulder. Dan was limping ever so slightly, trying not to let Phil see. 

Phil frowned, stopping and turning to face Dan. “Are you hurt?” 

Dan met his eyes, scoffing. “No, I’m fine. Worried you’ll have to drag me? Will that be too tiresome for you to manage, Sir?”

Phil’s eyes fell on Dan’s trouser leg. Blood was leaking through the thin material on the front of his right thigh. “You are hurt.”

Dan looked down as well. He gritted his teeth, to keep from wincing, perhaps, and for once he was silent. 

“Should I bandage it?” Phil asked. “I have cloth, and wine to clear the infection.”

“Why bother? I’m to suffer for eternity anyway. Why not start now?”

“I’m trying to be kind,” Phil told him, his fingers tightening into a fist. “You’re obviously hurt, and you can’t walk well. You won’t last all the way to the capital.”

“Very well then, let me die.” Dan shrugged. “I won’t have to listen to your incessant chatter.”

Phil’s brows drew together. “Incessant” wasn’t a word used often by lowborn outlaws. Perhaps Dan was smarter than he appeared, smarter than Phil had given him credit for. 

“You call me the dishonorable one, while you’ve done nothing but insult me.” Phil turned around and rifled through the bag slung over his horse’s back. He found a roll of white cloth and a flagon of wine, half empty from the journey and heated by the sun. “I’m simply doing my duty as a knight and protector of the realm. Surely even you must understand that.”

“Why protect a realm that’s done nothing for you?” 

Phil turned back to him. There was a lazy smile on Dan’s face. “This realm has done everything for me. It’s made me a knight.”

Dan shook his head. “You’re no knight. Just another nobleman playing pretend with a real sword.”

Phil’s fingers itched to draw that sword just then, and to slit Dan’s throat from ear to ear and watch the blood pool on the ground. But then what evidence would he have for his father, to prove to him his honor? A rotting corpse could do nothing of the sort. Phil started slowly unspooling the cloth, and popped open the flagon of wine. 

“Sit down. And lift up your pant leg,” he demanded, trying to keep his voice even. Dan, miraculously, obeyed. 

The cut didn’t look deep, more a scrape than anything, but it had gone untreated for long. Corruption was beginning to grow around the edges, and the blood was spilling down Dan’s leg in a thick red line. 

“How did this happen?” Phil asked. 

“Had a bit of a disagreement.”

Phil bit his bottom lip and poured a sip of the wine onto the wound. Dan hissed, and Phil poured more, trapping the drink with the cloth, staining it purple and dark red. 

As Phil tucked the end of the bandage, Dan’s hand shot out from his side, wrapped around the hilt of Phil’s sword, and pulled it from its sheath. Phil, startled, stumbled backwards, one hand digging into the dirt, the other grasping desperately for the dagger in his belt. 

Dan was grinning. “You let your guard down much too easy, Sir Philip. And with such a fine blade, one would think you’d be more careful.”

Phil staggered to his feet, hefting his dagger to eye level. He didn’t know if he could hold his own with a dagger as long as his forearm, especially against a broadsword. But Dan’s hands were chained together. And besides, Phil would have no choice. Dan would kill Phil if he got the chance. 

Before Phil could think about striking, Dan lunged, swiping the sword at Phil, slow enough for Phil to step out of the way and jab fruitlessly at Dan’s exposed left side. _He isn’t very good_, Phil observed. _But neither am I_. Dan went in again, relying on the blades power instead of his own. All of his attacks were too slow or too far off their marks, but Phil was always too far away to connect any of his own blows. Dan was backing him into a corner, and if he pushed Phil hard enough, Phil would lose to one careless swing or another. 

So Phil changed his plan.

The next time Dan swung, Phil ducked low instead of to the side. He tucked into a roll when he hit the dirt, and Dan, alarmed, pulled the sword back to his chest. Phil used the time it took his to slash Dan’s wound deeper with his dagger. Dan’s leg buckled as he let out a scream, one hand grasping at his leg. Phil used his own free hand to knock the hilt of his broadsword out of Dan’s grip. It fell into the mud, silver blade gleaming in the sunlight. Dan fell too, both hands wrapped around his leg, blood pouring through the slits of his fingers. 

Phil felt a flash of triumph before Dan’s scream sliced through his pride. Phil looked to him again, writhing on the ground, the wound on his leg stretching across the entire length of his thigh now. Phil’s triumph turned to cold dread in the bottom of his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” were the first words to come to his lips. He knelt down next to Dan, trying to pry his fingers away from his bloodied thigh. “Let me help.”

“You’ve helped enough.” Dan winced. The blood was starting to pool on the ground. Phil felt bile rising in his throat. “Oh gods…”

“Then let me get you to a healer.”

“Why can’t you just slit my throat and be done with it?” Dan said, his eyes shining. With pain or with tears, Phil couldn’t tell. 

“Because you _can’t die.” _

__

__

“Why not?” Dan yelled. He slumped back to the ground afterwards, moaning and clutching his leg. “I want to be done.”

“Well, you’re not.”

Phil spent the next few minutes struggling to lift Dan onto his horse. He wrapped his wound again as well, but no amount of cloth could stop the blood. He would need to be sewn up, and the infection would have to be treated with herbs or stronger alcohol. And Phil had neither the skills or supplies to do so here. 

When Dan was securely fastened onto Phil’s mare, with little chance of falling and injuring himself further, they set off for the Western fork of the Great River. Phil and his companions had stopped at an inn on the water’s edge the night before. They could find food and shelter there, and hopefully a healer. 

As Phil walked, leading his horse at a slow trot, he kept a close eye on Dan. His face had gone pale, and his eyes were fluttering.

“You have to stay awake,” Phil told him. 

“I can’t.”

“You must.” _He has to live_. 

Phil kept watching as Dan drifted closer to sleep. Every time his eyelids would droop, Phil would reach up and nudge his shoulder. Watching him so closely gave Phil a chance to study his features. His hair was already unkempt and curly, made even worse by sweat and mud. It was cut close to his head at the ears. He was skinny, probably underfed, but the muscles in his arms and legs were hard and strong. He also held himself well, even half-dead his shoulders were pushed back and his chin tilted up. Perhaps he had served a highborn lord at some point, and picked up his mannerisms and vocabulary. Phil couldn’t see Dan serving anybody. _Maybe that was why he ran away_. 

Dan had been jostled around on the horse for far too long when the smell of fresh bread and gentle murmur of voices signaled their arrival at the inn. Phil gave his horse to one of the stablehands, helping Dan off her back as gently as he could. His breath was ragged and slow, and Phil feared he didn’t have much longer. _If he died, it would be all my fault_. Phil threw one of Dan’s arms around his own shoulders, dragging him slowly towards the inn. 

Phil pushed open the heavy wooden door, pulling himself and Dan over the threshold. The patrons of the tavern on the bottom floor gave the pair sweeping glances, but no eyes lingered for long.

“Is there a healer?” Phil called across the room. Most of the men buried their eyes back into their ale, but one of the serving wenches approached Phil cautiously. 

“Come to the back,” she told him. “My grandmother can help.”

She led Phil through the tables and towards the kitchen, where they passed through a small doorway and into a hearth room, where an old woman was tending to a crackling fire. 

“Grandmother,” the serving girl chastised. “I told you I would handle the fire, you’re much too frail.”

“Don’t be silly, Pia.” Pia’s grandmother pushed another log into the hearth before tilting her head towards Dan and Phil. “Who are our guests?”

“I’m Sir Philip Lester,” Phil told her. “I’m transporting a prisoner, and he’s gotten injured.”

“Lester?” the old woman mused. “I didn’t know your father had a knighted son.”

“I’m the youngest,” Phil admitted. “But please, he needs help.”

“Lay him there.” She pointed to a straw mattress in the back corner of the room. “Pia, fetch my herbs.”

Her granddaughter nodded and fled from the room as Phil lowered Dan carefully onto the mattress, pulling up his pant leg and removing the red-soaked rags. As soon as the wound was free, the blood began to spill again. Dan let out a small noise and twitched. 

“Hold this to the wound.” The old woman handed Phil a clean bolt of cloth. He obeyed, pressing it as tight as he could against Dan’s leg. 

Dan groaned, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “It’ll be alright,” Phil whispered to him so the old woman couldn’t hear. _It had to be_. 

Pia soon returned with a basket of herbs and vials in her hand. She set it down by her grandmother’s side. The old woman took the cloth from Phil and used it to wipe up the rest of the blood on Dan’s leg. Then, she set to work with a sewing needle and catgut thread at stitching the cut. Phil couldn’t stand to watch while she pierced the skin, so instead he turned to look at Dan, whose eyes were screwed shut as tightly as his fist around the bedsheets. He looked as if he were inches from screaming. 

“Give him milk of the poppy,” the old woman demanded of her granddaughter. Pia reached into the basket and pulled out a small vial of cloudy white liquid. She uncorked it and had Phil hold Dan’s mouth open while she poured the contents inside. 

“Swallow it all,” she told him in a gentle voice. “It will help with the pain.” 

Dan did as she said, gulping down the medicine. His eyelids started to droop almost immediately and his fist stopped its assault on the bedsheet. When his entire body had relaxed, the old woman nodded curtly, and set back to work on her sewing. Phil still kept his eyes trained on Dan as the woman sewed and her granddaughter wiped away the blood. Dan’s eyes fluttered, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to keep them open or not. It was strange for Phil to see him like this, with his irises glazed over and head slumped uselessly to his side. There was an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. Phil just hoped he wasn’t in any pain anymore. 

The old woman was mumbling something to Pia, who nodded and started placing herbs in a small stone bowl. Phil tried to read the expressions on their faces for some sort of hint of Dan’s condition, but they revealed nothing. Pia began to grind the leaves together with a stone and an expert hand, gaze trained on the bowl. When she was done, Pia handed the bowl to her grandmother. The old woman snipped the end of the catgut with a pair of sewing scissors and dipped two fingers into the poultice. Phil watched as she spread the ointment over the angry red cut. Dan sighed softly, his head lolling over his right shoulder so he was facing Phil. His lips were moving, but no sound came out. 

“That should do it,” the old woman said, wiping her hand on a piece of clean cloth. “If the stitches hold, he’ll be alright.”

“What about the infection?” Phil asked.

“The ointment should stop it,” she explained. “But there will still be pain. The milk of the poppy will wear off in a few hours, so Pia and I will prepare some dreamwine for the rest of your journey.”

“Thank you, erm...”

“Joanna.”

“Thank you, Joanna. House Lester is in your debt for this service.”

Joanna smiled wryly. “I’m not sure House Lester can afford to give me much. But it’s no matter. I’m here to serve.”

“Thank you,” Phil said again. Joanna bowed her head and took Pia’s arm as they left the room for the kitchens. 

Phil turned back to Dan. His eyes had finally closed, and Phil thought the milk of the poppy had put him to sleep before his mouth opened and he spoke.

“Your father…”

Phil went still. “What of him?”

“I recognize the name now. He’s sworn to…” Dan winced, a hand flying to his leg. “To House Howell.”

“Yes,” Phil said. “How could you know that?” 

Dan ignored the question. “Your father… I met him once. But he didn’t mention you.”

Phil looked away. “I’m not exactly my house’s pride and joy.”

“I’m sorry. They can’t understand.”

Dan’s eyes were open now. They were big and brown and full of firelight. 

“No,” Phil murmured. 

Dan made a small sound and shifted in the straw. “My house is embarrassed of me as well,” he admitted. “That’s why I ran.”

“You house? Are you not lowborn?”

Dan just smiled and closed his eyes.

“Dan?” Phil shook his shoulder gently, but he was already asleep.

Phil watched him carefully as he slept, as to make sure he wasn’t in anymore pain. Milk of the poppy was supposed to give someone a dreamless sleep, and it seemed to be working. In fact, Dan was sleeping so stilly Phil would’ve thought he was dead if not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the soft noises that escaped through his lips. Seeing him like this was even more unsettling. It was hard for Phil to remember that the boy in front of him was actually a criminal.

“Excuse me, Sir.”

Phil turned. Pia was standing in the doorway, blushing.

“Sorry to be bothersome. But I can get you settled in your own room, if you’d like.”

Phil’s eyes fell back on Dan. “Alright. Thank you.”

Pia led him up the small staircase in the back of an inn, and showed him her largest empty room. It was modest, with only a straw bed and a table with a bowl of green apples and a candlestick on top for furniture. But Phil didn’t mind. The window in the center of the back wall looked out over the forest, with the river splashing below.

“Thank you, Pia,” Phil said again, unbuckling his sword belt and hanging it on the chair sitting next to the table.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir,” she said. “Why do you want to help him?”

“Dan?”

Pia nodded. “It just seems strange to me. Since he’s a criminal.”

Phil looked at the floor. “I… I need him to stay alive so I can take him to the capital and prove my honor to my father.”

“I see.” Pia’s brows drew together. “Anyway, please let me know if you need anything.”

Phil nodded, and Pia dipped her head before leaving. Phil didn’t dwell on what she had said. He ate one of the green apples and sharpened his sword and dagger with a whetstone he found in his pack. He thought about what Dan had told him. If Dan was part of a house, a proper house, that meant he had lands to inherit and a family that he had decided to leave. But why? Phil could never leave his house. It was all he had. And it wasn’t like Dan had anything else either.

The sun had begun to set, painting the sky a bright orange. A wave of exhaustion washed over Phil, the weight of his journey finally hitting him. He put away his things and collapsed onto the bed, his heavy limbs sighing with relief as they hit the soft sheets. Soon, he was asleep, dreaming of Dan lying helplessly in the room below his.

The sunlight streaming through the curtains jarred Phil awake the next morning. He shrugged into his clothes and boots quickly and ran down the stairs, bursting into the hearth room. Pia, who was applying more ointment to Dan’s stitches, was so startled she almost dropped her bowl.

“Sorry to startle you,” Phil blurted. He was about to ask after Dan before he noticed he was already sitting up and shoveling spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth like he had been starved for days. With a flash of alarm, Phil realized that perhaps he had.

“Is he ready to travel, do you think?” Phil asked Pia.

“Good morning to you, too,” Dan quipped. “And I’m fine to do anything.”

Pia wrapped a fresh piece of white cloth around Dan’s leg. “It would be better for you to rest more, but if you must keep going…”

“We must,” Phil interrupted. “And soon.”

Dan rolled his eyes, but Pia nodded in agreement. “Very well.”

The serving girl helped Dan to his feet, keeping an arm around his waist as he shuffled from the hearth room and back outside the inn. While she was tending to him, Phil asked around the inn for someone with a horse willing to sell. He found a free rider who would take the rest of Phil’s silver in exchange for his garron, and when it became clear no other offer would be available, Phil reluctantly accepted. He pulled the drawstring around his purse, hoping they could make do with the last few coppers Phil had left.

As Phil was untying the horse, Joanna came from the inn, a skin of wine in her arms.

“Give him a sip of this if the pain is too much. And keep him off his feet, or the stitches will come out,” she reminded him.

“Right.” Phil nodded. “I will.”

The garron was much slower and older than Phil’s mare. Perhaps it still wasn’t wise to give Dan his own mount, but Phil thought it wasn’t wise to carry him to the capital either. He led the garron to the front of the inn. Phil and Pia lifted Dan onto the horse with some difficulty, being careful not to pull on the stitches in Dan’s leg.

“Thank you Pia,” Dan said when he was situated comfortably. “For everything.”

The girl blushed, bowing her head. Phil frowned.

“Yes, thank you.”

Perched on top of the garron, Dan looked just the same as he did when Phil first found him. The color in his cheeks was returning, and his shoulders were thrown back and his back straightened like he was born to sit on a horse. Any glimpse of softness he might have given Phil under the influence of the milk of the poppy was gone, replaced with the cocky and arrogant outlaw Phil knew. But Phil hadn’t forgotten was Dan had told him. He was still wondering which house it was that Dan had come from, and why he had felt it so necessary to leave. He wondered if he would ever get to know.

Phil reminded himself that it didn’t matter anymore. Dan would rot in a cell in the capital dungeons, and his name would rot with him.

“Thank you for all your help, Joanna,” Phil told her, bowing. “I’m in your debt.”

Joanna smiled. “Anything for a young knight. Safe travels, Sir.”

Phil nodded, hoping her blessing would prove true. He mounted his own horse, cast another look at Dan, and spurred his mare forward with his heels.

Dan and Phil rode in silence as the inn disappeared behind them and they followed the Great River to the capital. Phil hoped they would stumble upon the Great Road soon, to give him some sort of indication that he was going the right way. Phil would occasionally look to Dan to see if he had any knowledge of the land, but if he did, he wasn’t giving any indication. So, it was silence.

They kept a slow, steady pace, as to not push Dan or his horse too hard. Sometimes Phil would forget himself and Dan would fall behind, but Phil found himself caring less and less when Dan was out of sight. It was stupid of him, Phil knew. Dan was his last chance to prove himself to his father. But talking about him the day before had only reminded Phil of the anguish his father had already put him through. Years of degradation weighed heavy on his back. _If I let Dan go, would it really matter all that much?_

Phil felt a wave of shame hit him as soon as the thought crossed his mind. _This is why Father hates me so much. I’m too soft._ Dan was an outlaw. He had killed and burned an innocent village. He needed to be punished, and Phil would not let his mistake stand in the way of it.

“Let’s move faster,” Phil demanded. “The faster you get to the capital, the faster you get what you deserve.”

Dan just looked at him blankly. _Could he hear my voice shaking, too_? Phil cleared his throat and tossed his reins. “Come on!”

The horses sped to a canter, and then a gallop. The forest was starting to blur past them, the smell of pine and the morning air in Phil’s nose. For a second, he let himself just ride, the wind running through his hair and his eyes drifting shut. He had almost forgotten about Dan before he heard him yelp.

Phil pulled up on his mare’s reins. “Are you alright?” he asked, whipping around.

Dan’s hand was drifting towards his thigh. “No, because you’re so insistent on getting to the capital in time for who knows what. We need to slow down if you don’t want me to bleed out.”

Phil gritted his teeth. “I don’t know why I would expect you to understand."

“Understand what?”

“Honor,” Phil spat. He expected Dan to shut up at that, but he didn’t. Instead he laughed.

“I understand honor just fine, _Sir_. You’re the one who’s accusing me of crimes I never committed.”

“What are you talking about? I found you in that village. You’re telling me it caught on fire itself?”

“I’m telling you it wasn’t me that burned it.”

The tone of his voice made Phil half believe him. “Well you… you were stealing I saw that,” Phil sputtered. “The silver and gold, you had that, and you were going to steal it.”

“You’d steal too, if it was the only way you could eat that night.”

Phil let out a low noise of frustration. “Well if you didn’t destroy the village who did?”

“My companions.”

“So you admit you were involved.”

“Not when they started killing people,” Dan muttered. He pointed to his leg. “Like I told you. We had a disagreement.”

Phil wanted to say something, but the thundering of hooves interrupted him. Startled, Phil looked around, cursing. He was so distracted he hadn’t noticed that the forest had gave way to open field, crops of spring wildflowers freckling the hills, the sun high in the middle of the sky. Everything was too wide and open, and they had been spotted.

Phil spun quickly, his mare knickering, and drew his sword. Five men on horseback were riding towards them, armored with mail and armed with castle-forged steel. Phil squinted at the standard fluttering in the air: the white dove on a blue sky of House Evenfall. His stomach fell to his feet.

“Good afternoon fellow travelers,” said the man leading the procession. His face was half-hidden in a thick brown beard, and a thin white scar ran from his cheek to his temple. His words were kind but his eyes were not. “Wonderful day for a ride.”

They said nothing.

The man’s gaze fell on Phil’s breast, to the crest stitched onto his leather jerkin. “So it’s true. You’re Lester’s son. We’ve been looking for you.”

Phil felt like an idiot. But there was no hiding it now. “What of it?”

“Your father owes House Evenfall a debt, and a great one at that,” one of the other men said. “Don’t know how he’s going to pay for it.”

Phil remembered what Joanna had said about Lord Lester not being able to afford to give her much. Phil knew his house was in debt: the servants in the castle had dwindled, their meals had become less extravagant. And he knew Evenfall was bearing the brunt of the coin, and what had once been his father’s most loyal vassal had now turned on him. But he didn’t think that they would ever go so far as to hunt down Phil himself.

“You should take that up with him then,” Phil said, his voice low. “I’m not involved in his affairs.”

“Except you are.” The scarred man’s stallion stepped forward. Phil’s horse tossed her mane. “You’re the only one that can pay it.”

Phil hefted his sword. “I don’t have any gold.”

“We don’t want any gold. Just your life.”

Phil’s mouth fell open. The scarred man grinned and charged. Phil held up his sword to parry, but it was difficult to hold the heavy steel with one hand and the reins with another. The scarred man swung his broadsword at the space just above the hilt of Phil’s, and Phil’s blade went flying into the dirt. The man grinned wickedly, throwing a huge fist at Phil’s face, sending him from his horse’s back and onto the hard ground with a grunt. Phil’s head was spinning, but he still heard Dan cry out when he fell on the ground next to him.

“Your leg,” Phil muttered. His chest seized up when he saw Dan’s eyes scrunched shut, his mouth gaping in pain.

“I’ll be…” Dan started to say, but he couldn’t finish before he let out a scream, wracked with more pain.

The Evenfall men took Phil’s dagger from his belt and tied his and Dan’s wrists together behind their backs with rope. Then they looped a larger rope around the pair of them and the nearest tree, too tight for them to move at all. Dan leaned his head against the tree trunk. Phil watched as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, his face white.

“Set up camp here,” the scarred man told the rest of his group. “Send a raven to Lord Evenfall. I want him to know what I’ve caught.”

The Evenfall men started a fire, and sat around it jeering at the two of them. Phil stayed silent, but Dan had a dangerous glint in his eye that burned through the glaze of pain.

“So you serve Lord Evenfall?” he started. The jeers stopped. The scarred man stood up. “What’s your name?” Dan asked him.

“Won’t matter to you, lowborn scum.”

“What, you forgot it?”

He laughed coldly. “I’m Tom. What’s your name?”

“Oh I’m no one. Wouldn’t want to fill your brain with my name. There is barely any room left.”

Tom frowned, his hand tightening around the knife at his belt. “You talk a lot, scum.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Dan,” Phil hissed. Phil didn’t like the game he was playing, especially when Tom’s knife was involved. The thing was as wide as a carving knife.

But Dan ignored him. “Anyway. You’re Evenfall’s pack of dogs, correct?”

One of the others spoke up. “I’d shut your mouth if I were you.”

“Let him talk,” Tom said. “His words are nothing. Just like him.”

It was Dan’s turn to laugh. “At least I’m more than you.”

In a flash, Tom had the point of his knife in the crook of Dan’s throat. The outlaw refused to blink, meeting Tom’s eyes, unmoving. Phil’s heart was beating so fast he could barely breathe. A pearl of blood slid down Dan’s throat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Dan warned, his voice low and menacing.

“Why not?” Tom said. “It’s Lester we want. You’re just a spare.”

“I think you’ll find I’m worth more than him.”

Tom laughed. Phil could smell his breath from where he was sitting. “You’re a dirty outlaw, lowborn scum. You’re worth less than a pile of shit.”

“I’m Daniel of House Howell and I demand you let me go.”

The camp grew silent as death. Phil gaped. House Lester was a sworn shield of House Howell, one of the richest families in the kingdom. It was said that their power rivaled that of the crown. At first Phil couldn’t believe it, that a member of House Howell would spend his time stealing from country villages. But Phil had seen Lord Howell at tourneys when he was younger. And he had seen his son too, the son that Phil remembered was said to now be in exile. _But what for_…

“Aye, and I’m the king,” Tom spat. But Phil could see it in his eyes that he believed it, too.

“If you kill me, my father will hear about it,” Dan said. “And you all will suffer a much slower death. But if you let me go, I’ll make you richer than you could ever hope to be hunting after Lord Evenfall’s prey.”

“How do I know you’re good for it? Or that you’re a Howell at all?”

Dan’s hand reached into his pocket, his tied wrists proving it difficult. But finally he pulled out a small, golden coin, and tossed it towards Tom. Tom held it up, and Phil could see in the firelight that it was stamped on one side with the sigil of House Howell, a bear standing on its hind legs.

“You can take that as insurance. It’s worth more than the coin in all of your purses combined.”

“I…”

“Are you going to let me go now?” Dan asked. “Because I’m becoming impatient.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Tom bowed awkwardly, and cut away the ropes that tied Dan to the tree and the ones around his wrist. Dan stood, putting one hand on the tree trunk to steady himself. “We only need Lester.”

With a start, Phil realized what was happening. He wanted to open his mouth and say something but what could he say? He didn’t have gold, that much was for certain. And his father definitely either. _He’s the reason I’m in this mess. No_, Phil told himself. _I’m the reason_. He would have to accept his fate, because he’d brought it on himself.

“No,” Dan said. “He comes with me.” Phil looked up at Dan, shocked. Dan didn’t meet his eyes.

“His father owes us a debt,” Tom argued. “And if you’re really a Howell, you’ll know how useless the Lesters are without some coercing.”

“I’m sorry, it’s non-negotiable. Either you free us both and get your gold or kill us both and get nothing.”

Tom’s grip tightened on his knife. “You’re not in a position to be making negotiations, boy.”

“Neither are you.”

Tom was too slow to stop Dan as he reached for a pocket sewn into the underside of his jerkin and pulled out a small, silver knife. Without even blinking, Dan tossed the knife right at Tom’s face and hit him square in the eye.

Tom grabbed at the handle while he stumbled to the ground, but Dan was faster. He leapt onto Tom as quickly as his leg would allow and yanked the knife from his head, aiming and tossing it at one of the other men in the party. As he went down and the other three started to understand what was happening, Dan had already unsheathed Tom’s own knife and found Phil’s sword buried in the dirt. He kicked the sword to Phil, who used it to cut away the binds on his own wrists.

_No wonder he was so rotten at sword fighting_, Phil thought as his steel worked through the thick rope. _He’s much better at this sort of thing_.

Whatever this sort of thing was, Phil hadn’t seen anything like it. It wasn’t the kind of battle taught in castles to young lords. Dan must have picked it up on his own, after he’d ran away.

Dan was engaging with all three of the men at once, slashing and moving so fast, even on his injured leg, that Phil didn’t think it was possible. When Phil himself finally joined the battle, the three Evenfall soldiers had deep cuts littering their faces, arms, and legs. Back to back, Dan and Phil fought until Phil thrust his sword into the last of the soldiers’s stomach.

“Oh,” Dan said, as if he was surprised at what they’d just done. Then he collapsed, landing on his hands.

“Dan!” Phil fell next to him, putting a hand on each of his shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be alright. It’s just hard to stand for so long.” He groaned, rolling up his pant leg. The cloth bandage had a growing spot of blood in the middle.

“You should lay down,” Phil told him. “I’ll take a look at that.”

“It’s the stitches I think,” Dan said through gritted teeth. Phil nodded, worried, and helped Dan to the ground, resting a hand behind his head until he was flat in the grass.

Phil’s pack was lying on the ground by the fire, its contents strewn in the dirt. Phil found the extra bandages and the half empty skin of dreamwine, taking both back to where Dan was lying still, so still Phil worried for a heartbeat that he had died. But his large brown eyes were still wide opening, tracing Phil’s face when he returned.

Phil slowly pulled the old cloth away from Dan’s leg, wincing as he examined the wound. The poultice seemed to have stopped the corruption, which was good news, but the stitches in the center of the cut were coming loose, and the blood was starting to trickle down Dan’s leg in a small but steady stream. Phil quickly lapped it up with the old bandage, his stomach turning. To take his mind off of the gore, he spoke to Dan as he was wrapping the fresh cloth around his leg.

“You were brilliant with those knives,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before.”

Dan winced as Phil pulled the cloth tight. “It’s just some stuff I’ve picked up.”

Phil wrapped the end of the bandage in and sat back, looking at the ground above Dan’s head. “You could’ve killed me if you wanted to,” he said softly. “With that hidden knife.”

Dan paused. “I didn’t think you deserved it.”

Phil dragged the bodies of the soldiers and Tom away from the campsite and deep into the woods. He didn’t think they deserved proper graves, so he left the bodies to the wolves. Phil laid out their bedrolls and gave Dan some of the bread and cheese the soldiers had in their packs. He gave him the dreamwine too, but Dan only drank a few sips.

Phil put out the fire when it got dark enough to sleep, but neither of them wanted to close their eyes.

“How long have you been away from home?” Phil asked, his voice so low it could be a whisper.

“Four years,” Dan said.

“My father told me you were exiled.”

Dan paused. “I was.”

“Why?”

Phil heard him let out a breath. “It was common knowledge in my father’s castle. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of it.”

“No.”

“My father…” Dan’s voice was heavy. “He caught me with… one of the household knights. It didn’t go over well.”

“Oh.”

They were very still while Phil thought of something to say.

“I also… I mean, I’m…” he trailed off.

“Oh.”

Phil could hear Dan shifting from beside him.

“You know,” Dan started. “You don’t have to go back. To your father, I mean. You could do whatever you want.”

“Like you?”

“Yes. Or with me.”

As Phil’s eyes started to adjust to the dark, he realized how close Dan’s face was to his. They were inches from each other, so close that if Phil leaned forward, they would touch. And he wanted to. But something held him back.

“I can’t.”

Dan shifted away from him. “You’re still taking me to the capital, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, you know.”

His words surprised Phil. He wanted to say something else but nothing came to mind, and soon Dan was asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly, his lips parted ever so slightly. Phil rolled over and closed his eyes. He didn’t care much if Dan decided to run. In fact, a part of him wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

When Phil woke up the next morning, Dan was readying the horses and cooking a rabbit over the fire. They ate the rabbit in silence and set out quickly afterwards. Phil yearned to say something, but his throat was clogged. Dan only looked forward the entire time, until the capital was on the horizon.

They had no trouble getting through the gates. Phil told the city guard he had a prisoner for the dungeons, and they let him in right away, but not before chaining Dan’s wrists together first. The guards cast Dan suspicious looks from under their visors, but Dan was blind to them. Dan seemed blind to everything.

Dan and Phil were escorted to the dungeons by one of the city guards inside the wall. He led them to a stone archway in the heart of the city, blocked by an iron gate with a thick lock on it and three city guard posted. While one of the posted guards fiddled with the key, Phil tried to catch Dan’s eye. But Dan wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were glued to the ground, his hair hanging into his face.

The dungeons were cold and smelled like mildew and piss. The only light they had during their descent was torch light, but when they reached the first floor, oil lamps illuminated three rows of cells, a spiraling staircase heading further down, and a stone desk with a jailor seated at it.

“New prisoner?” the jailor asked. Phil cleared his throat, trying to swallow the lump lodged in it.

“Yes.”

“What he do?”

Phil fiddled with his hands. “He, uh, robbed a village.”

“Aye. First floor for that kind of crime then.”

The jailor nodded and the city guardsmen, who grabbed Dan by his chains and pushed him towards one of the empty cells. As he was walking away, Dan looked back at Phil, for the first time since the night before. In the fire, his wide eyes looked as if they were glowing. And then he disappeared into the darkness.

“Thank you for your service to the realm, Sir,” the jailor was saying. “Do you have a name?”

“Uh, yes. Philip of House Lester.”

“A noblemen, eh?” The jailor pulled out a scroll from under a rock paperweight, and dipped his quill into his inkpot. “Give this to Gwen the innkeep at the inn just down the road. They’ll get you a nice room and a warm meal every night for as long as you want to stay.”

Phil stared at the scroll. The words were blurry. “Right. Thank you.” Phil knew he should leave but his feet were glued to the floor.

“Is there something else?” the jailor asked.

“Uh, do you know what will happen to him?”

The jailor frowned. “The prisoner?”

“Yes. Will he be tortured or anything.”

The line between the jailor’s brow deepend. “Wasn’t planning on it. Why? Should he be?”

“No!” Phil said quickly. “I mean, no. I just wanted to make sure he was alright. He didn’t do anything _that_ horrible. He doesn’t deserve a lot of punishment.”

“Alright then. I’ll make a note of that.”

Phil got the sense that he wasn’t serious. Before he could say anything stupider, he lit one of the torches in the basket by the desk and scrambled back up the stairs, and back towards the surface.

The sunlight blinded him for a moment when he emerged from the cave, the jailor’s scroll crumbled in his fist. He handed off the torch to one of the guardsmen and asked for directions to the inn the jailor had suggested. The guard pointed down the road, lined with tall houses and stores with merchants standing outside offering fruits and textiles.

Phil sighed and started down the street, dragging his feet across the cobblestones. Was this what success felt like? An empty hole in the pit of his stomach? Phil didn’t think this was what it was _supposed_ to be. All his life he had searched for his father’s validation, and for something to prove his honor. But now, he wasn’t sure honor was all it was cracked up to be.

Phil arrived at the inn. The wooden door was stamped with the crown’s crest, and the other smaller houses circled around it. Phil’s eyes landed on the bear in the upper left. Something was squeezing at his heart.

He pushed open the door so he didn’t have to look at the sigil any longer. This inn was more cramped and dirty than the one in the countryside. It was also full of guardsmen and lesser nobles, who all suddenly made Phil conscious of his dirty clothes and his cheap gilded steel. Before he could lose his courage and back away, a tall blonde woman with pretty eyes came up to him.

“You need a room, Sir?” she asked him.

“Yes. Are you the innkeep?”

“That would be me.” She held out her hand, and Phil placed the crumbled scroll in her palm. She read it over and nodded. “Come with me, m’lord.”

The innkeep led him up three flights of spiraling stairs and to a small tower room. The ceiling cut on a slope towards the back of the room, making the already tiny space feel even more claustrophobic. Phil had to duck to make it through the doorway.”

“Sorry about the size,” she said. “This was the only room available. It’s got a feather bed and a window, if that’s any good.”

“This is perfect,” Phil said. “Thank you.”

“Of course, m’lord.”

he bowed and made her way back down the staircase. Phil sat on his featherbed and looked out the window. He could see the entire city, all the way to the great gates he and Dan had come through hours before. He leaned his forehead against the window frame. A cool breeze ran through his hair, bringing him back to when he was riding in the forest all alone except for Dan. He could feel his eyes burn, but he wiped away the tears before they could fall.

Some of the inn’s serving girls brought him a tub of warm water and a plate of boar and grilled apple for lunch. He sent the girls on their way before stripping and taking a much needed bath. The warm water was as comforting as a mother’s hug, and if he closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was back at his home. But then he saw his father staring down at him, disappointment oozing off of him like sweat. Phil’s eyes flew open again. He scrubbed his skin and hair and toweled off quickly after that, calling for the servants to take the tub away while he pushed the boar meat around his plate with his fork.

He decided he was too tired to eat. He left his food abandoned on his bedside table and fell asleep in the middle of the day, trying not to think of his father or Dan.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Phil jolted awake from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He glanced out the window. The sky was dark, moonlight shining through the curtains. Someone had left a pork sausage and a pile of sliced potatoes on a plate on his bedside table. He pushed them aside, stomach tossing.

He knew sleep wouldn’t be possible again. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, slid into his boots, and buckled his sword around his hips. His hand lingered on the doorknob of his room for a few seconds before he took a deep breath and turned it, stepping into the dark hallway.

He crept down the staircase, past the other rooms, and through the tavern on the lower floor. He had to carefully step over a drunken guardsmen passed out on the floor, his ale pooling on the floor next to him, before he got to the door, pushing it open gently.

The capital seemed as empty as the tavern this late into the night. The shopkeepers and merchants had closed up their shops, and the moonlight only showed the glowing eyes of feral cats, perched on rooftops and in the mouths of alleyways. Phil carefully made his way down the street, his feet tripping over exposed cobblestones every couple of steps. The stone archway was in sight now. Phil wanted to turn around, but something pushed him forward. He was stopped by the guards at the iron gate, but came up with a lie about orders from some lord about monitoring a prisoner, and was allowed inside. The stairway leading down to the dungeons seemed even darker now, and colder.

The jailor was asleep at his desk. As quietly as he could, Phil grabbed a torch from the basket next to him and lit it with one of the oil lamps. He moved past the jailor quietly and went down the first row of cells, shining his torchlight through the bars of every one until he stopped somewhere near the middle.

Dan was curled up in the corner of the cell, his back to Phil. Phil thought about turning around and walking away again, but with Dan so close he knew he couldn’t. _I can’t leave him again_. He sat down on the cold stone floor and leaned against the bars, inhaling deeply. There was something inside him, gnawing at his chest.

“Phil?”

Phil looked up. Dan was still in the corner of the cell, sitting forward with one palm on the ground, as if poised to attack. His hair was matted on one side. Someone had wrapped a fresh bandage around his leg, but they had wrapped it around his trousers too.

“Hello,” Phil said, not sure what else to start with.

Dan scooted closer. “What are you doing?”

“I… How’s your leg?”

Dan glanced at the bandage. “It’s fine. What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to see you.”

Dan moved forward even more, until he was up against the bars. He put his hand right next to Phil’s. “Why?” he asked. His voice was a breath.

“Because nothing feels right. And I don’t know what to do.”

Dan’s hand moved lower, until his fingers were on Phil’s. “You don’t have to do _anything_.”

This time there was nothing to hold Phil back. He leaned as far forward as the bars would allow and let his eyes fall closed, until there was a loud _clang_ from the end of the hall, and he had to pull away.

The jailor’s silhouette was watching them. Phil stood, clearing his throat.

“What’s going on back there?” the jailor shouted.

“I was just…” Phil had no answer. He looked back to Dan, but he had retreated back to his corner. “...speaking with the prisoner.”

“No visiting allowed,” the jailor told him. “Get back to the inn, Sir.”

“The keys are in one of the drawers,” Phil heard Dan whisper from the corner of his cell. “Please, Phil. Come back.”

Phil opened his mouth to say something back but the thing lodged in his throat was back. He wanted to say that’d he’d be back, that Phil wouldn’t leave him. _Dan didn’t leave me. He could have, and he wouldn’t be in this mess, but he didn’t leave me. _But every time he thought about Dan his father’s face floated into his mind’s eye. He laced his fingers through his hair, the light suddenly too much for him to bare. His head was throbbing as the jailor led back to the surface, glancing nervously in Phil’s direction the entire way.

Phil walked back to the inn defeated and exhausted. His headache refused to go away, even when he laid down to try to go back to sleep. It was like there was something wrestling in his brain, pounding at the sides of his skull, all the while asking him what he _really wanted_. And Phil didn’t know how to answer. What he wanted had never mattered this much.

Phil stared at the ceiling above his bed, listening to the blood roaring in his ears, instead of going to sleep. It was where the innkeep found him the next morning, eyes red as if he had been sobbing.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she started. Phil sat, propping himself up with his elbow. The early morning sunlight shone through the curtains and onto the innkeep, standing in the room’s threshold with a plate of bacon and eggs in one hand and a parchment in the other. “There was a raven for you.”

“Thanks.” Phil took the breakfast and the parchment from her hands. She bowed her head and left, closing Phil’s door behind her.

He set the plate on the table and looked at the scroll, running his thumb over the small wax seal, stamped with the Lester crest. Staring at it only made his head hurt more. He slipped it into his pocket and turned to his food, shoveling down the bacon to make up for the meal he had skipped the night before.

The scroll still heavy in his pocket, unfurled, Phil set his plate aside and walked down two flights of stairs to the tavern on inn’s bottom floor. He asked one of the serving girls for a cup of ale and sat at an empty table in the corner of the room. It was early in the day, but the tavern was already mostly full of off duty guardsmen. Phil looked into his drink, trying to see into the bottom of the cup. He didn’t even notice when someone sat down across from him.

“Hello,” the man said. His voice was as gruff as his face, littered with white scars and fresh bruises. On his right arm was an owl sigil. Phil thought it looked familiar.

“Hello,” Phil said back, if not a bit cautiously. “Who are you?”

“I’m Nick. My father’s Lord Lewis. He’s one of your vassals, is he not?”

“You know who I am?”

“Sure, you’re Lord Lester’s youngest son. I remember seeing you at the tournament a few years ago. You could barely hold your sword upright.”

Phil felt his face grow hot. “What do you want?”

“Just thought I ought to come and say hello. I don’t see a lot of people from home nowadays.”

“Why did you come to the capital?” Phil asked him, trying to be polite.

Nick shrugged. “Better work here. You get good coin for rounding up thieves and rapers.”

Phil looked back into his cup. “Yeah.”

“Had someone I was betrothed to back home,” Nick continued. Phil stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “Left her for all this. Sometimes I wonder how my life would’ve been different if I didn’t.”

“Why would you leave someone you were promised to?”

“Wasn’t something I was very enthusiastic about, really. Getting married, living in my father’s shadow all my life. I preferred to go off and make something of myself.”

“Right.” Phil shoved his hand into his purse and put a couple coppers on the table. “Nice talking to you.” He stormed off before Nick could reply, his boots thumping loudly against the wooden staircase.

When he was alone in his room again, he pulled out the parchment. His hands were shaking as he broke the seal. His father’s script was small and neat, and his short message filled only half of the paper.

_Return home immediately. I will not support this fool’s errand any further. You will be doing less damage at home. Lord Lester._

Phil rolled up the message again, fingering the wax seal. Then he tossed it into the fire.

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his room, planning and waiting. He packed the belongings he needed back into his pack, and tucked the rest of the food the innkeep brought him that day into a sack. Then he sharpened his sword, the whetstone making a satisfying _shing_ every time it ran up the length of the silver blade. When the moon was high in the black sky, Phil wrapped his pack over his shoulders, buckled his sword around his hips, and snuck quietly from his room, just as he had done the night before.

Before he left the inn, he stopped at the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets until he found the knives, laid out neatly in one of the top drawers. Their absence would certainly be noticed. Phil bit his lip and took the three smallest ones anyway, tucking two in one boot and the last one in the other.

The fear hit him as soon as he stepped out onto the street. But his feet, as much as he wanted them to stop, carried him forward, towards the stone archway in the middle of the city. They stopped him when the dungeon entrance was just around the corner. Phil stared at his hand, the fingers quivering slightly, and peeked around the corner. There were still three guards posted, still as statues. Their swords hung at their belts, just as stoic and menacing as they were. Phil sighed, his breath shaking. Then he turned around the corner and fell onto his knees in front of the guards.

“Please you have to help!” he said, the words coming to his lips like it was second nature. “My companions, they’ve been mugged, we need help to chase down the criminals!”

The guards shared a look before nodding at each other. Two of them stepped forward.

“Which way did you say?” one of them said, his voice muffled by his visor.

“Down that alley.” Phil pointed in the direction he had came in.

“Can you show us?”

“No!” Phil yelped. “I’m uh, too scared to go back there!”

He could hear one of the guards let out a sigh. “Very well.” He headed in the direction Phil pointed, beckoning the other to follow. Phil let out a tiny breath of relief. This was the best possible situation.

When the armored footsteps of the other two guards faded, Phil rose to his feet. “Thanks for all you help,” he told the final guard as he drew his sword, sending an arced slice into the right side of the guard’s head.

He went down, his helmet ringing, too dazed to even try to draw his own sword. Phil slid the point of his blade in the chink of armor between the man’s helmet and his breastplate. The blood spurted from his neck, angry and red. Phil looked away, trying not to retch. He stole the key hanging on the guard’s belt and unlocked the dungeon gate, triumph and adrenaline pumping through his heart.

This time, the jailor wasn’t asleep when Phil reached the bottom of the staircase. He started when he saw who it was, anger plain on his blocky face as he stumbled to his feet.

“You again?” he grumbled. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I won’t stand for it.”

“I’m breaking out a prisoner,” Phil said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

The jailor made an odd noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a growl. He reached under his desk and drew a plain looking steel axe the size of Phil’s head. Phil’s hands were shaking again, but he drew his sword, still red with the blood of the first guard. The sight only seemed to anger the jailor more. He leapt over his desk and charged at Phil, wielding the axe over his head like a trophy.

Phil rolled out of the way of his first swing. Despite all the power in the steel, the man was slow and not accustomed to swinging it. Phil felt his courage returning when he parried the jailor’s second attack, using all the strength he could muster to push his axe back towards him.

The jailor stumbled back, the unexpected weight taking him by surprise. Phil took advantage of his mistake, stepping with his right foot and jabbing at the spot under the jailor’s ribs. It didn’t go very deep, but when Phil withdrew his sword, a pool of blood blossomed on the jailor’s robes, seeping through the material and dripping onto the floor.

The jailor stared at his wound with an open mouth, as if he couldn’t understand why it was there. Then he fell to his knees, the axe clattering on the stone floor beside him. Phil grinned.

Phil searched all the drawers in the jailor’s desk, finally finding the ring of keys in the bottom one on the right. They seemed to glitter like gold in the firelight. He grabbed them by the ring and set off through the first row of cells, stopping somewhere near the middle.

Dan was already awake. He was standing now, putting more weight on his uninjured leg. He was frowning at Phil like he couldn’t quite believe he was there.  
“I heard a clang,” he said. “What happened?”

“I killed the jailor,” Phil said. “Or, injured him at least. Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Phil fit the key in the lock on Dan’s cell. Dan watched, still frowning. “I thought you had left.”

The lock clicked. Phil looked up at Dan. “No. I’m done leaving.”

The door swung open. They stared at each other, nothing separating them now. Soundlessly, Dan stepped forward until they were inches apart. His hand found the side of Phil’s face and he leaned in, and this time nothing stopped them.

Dan’s lips fell onto Phil’s, more softly and carefully than Phil had ever seen Dan do anything. Phil’s arm slid around Dan’s waist, pressing him closer. He felt so warm, even after spending so much time in this cold cell. It was like his body was on fire.

Dan pulled away gently, his hand still brushing Phil’s cheek, his breath hot against Phil’s lips. “We should leave,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

But instead of leaving, Phil leaned in again, kissing Dan as if he were afraid it would be the last time he could. _And it would be, if they didn’t move quickly_.  
Dan laughed quietly. “Come on, we need to leave.”

Phil nodded, letting himself smile as Dan grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.

He stopped when he saw the jailor’s body. He was lying facedown on the stone floor, blood pooling at his side.

“Did you do that?” Dan asked. Phil nodded, reaching into his boots to pull out the three knives he had stolen.

“I killed one of the guards up there too. We should be ready, just in case.”

Dan took the knives from Phil’s hand and slipped them into his jerkin. They made their way up the stone steps quietly, their hands still laced together. When they reached the surface, the gate was still swung wide open, the guard Phil had killed still on the floor.

“I think we’re okay,” Phil whispered.

“I hope so.”

Dan flipped one of his knives over and over in his hand as they walked through the gate, stepping over the bloodstained guard doing his job quite poorly. Dan nodded down a road off to the left, and Phil followed after him. They wound through the city streets until they came to the city’s gates. The guards didn’t even blink an eye when Phil told them they wanted to leave.

And when Phil stepped over the city line, for the first time in his entire life, he was free.

Dan and Phil wandered hand in hand through the fields surrounding the capital. The land here was mostly for farming and cattle grazing, and it was too late at night to run into anyone. But still they walked until they reached the woods, the vast trees climbing towards the moon, the smell of pine sharp in the air. There at the edge of the forest they stopped and laid down in the soft grass, their faces to the stars.

“We’ll need to find some horses,” Phil said. “I can’t walk for that long again.” Dan laughed, clear and beautiful.

“We’ll be okay.”

Dan rolled towards, propping his head up with his hand. Phil wished he had kissed him the last time they were lying in the dark like this. Like Dan could read his mind, he smiled and leaned forward, pressing their lips together again. Phil never wanted to stop this, ever.

When Dan finally pulled away, he buried himself into Phil’s arms, resting his head on Phil’s chest.

“So what now?” Phil asked.

Dan breathed deeply. “Whatever we want.”

“That sounds… good.”

“Good.”

Phil looked up at the stars that he could see through the tops of the trees. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of Dan breathing.


End file.
